My Dog is a Typical One
by Yanagi of the Wind
Summary: Mello was forced to take care of his new "puppy"- A boy named Matt. Though, as any real dog owner knows, he was not like the happy, cliche dogs on T.V.. No, that would be too easy for Mello. His dog is absolutely incorrigible- A real dog. And, as a warning for all you dog owners, he's going to list a few things that a typical dog is like. Mello's POV, T for Language, One-shot.


**Disclaimer: I claim no ownership _whatsoever_ over "Death Note", its plot, characters, or anything of the sort. I mean, since I'm posting to FanFiction, it should be obvious, but I don't feel like starting a fight or whatever. So yeah.**

**Warning: I'm writing in Mello's POV. This means there is cursing. A lot of cursing. **

**A/N: I put forth a lot of effort into this one-shot, even though it's short. Usually I start writing something and either forget what I was writing about, fail to plot it, or quit writing for whatever other reason, but not this time! I was all, "I'M GONNA FUCKING FINISH IT! *Bursts out into maniacle laughter*" So _anyway_, I came up with this idea when I read "Marley & Me", and wrote it on my arm because I didn't have any paper and "Writing on the walls is unacceptable behavior". Then I _actually plotted it_ and went over it (Thrice!) and am now posting it. I hope it's worth reading.**

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**-O-**

Anyone who has ever owned a dog- A real dog- knows that they never act like those TV ads say they do. Dogs don't lovingly follow and obey every word you say like you're god. They don't happily curl up near your feet and snooze while you watch TV. Sometimes they don't even stay in the yard. Some people try and pass it off as "You're just a weak-willed, bad owner". Do you people have any idea how fucking stupid you sound? Really. Make fucking excuses, blame everything except the actual problem- Most dogs are completely and abso-fucking-lutely incorrigible. And my dog is no different.

Oh, reasons? You want _reasons_?! Fine then, I'll fucking show you who's right. Jackass.

**Reason number one**: My dog doesn't do the tricks I teach him. Actually, I'm pretty sure he doesn't even learn them.

"Matt," I say from the doorway, glaring angrily at the redhead who, as usual, has gotten into gamer position, cigarette clenched between his teeth, eyebrows almost certainly knit in concentration underneath his orange goggles. He ignores me, instead opting to smash in the face of some zombie-vampire thing or another. I would think he's deaf if it weren't for the fact that he always hears when the lunch or dinner bells ring.

"Matt, you asshole," I say, louder this time. His head twitches toward me for a millisecond, but it's back to the television in no time, his fingers rapidly pressing buttons that I've no doubt have memorized every strategy in the game, and more.

"Speak, boy!" I snap, pissed off. I don't have time for his fucking games right now. He plays them all night and day, and it isn't unreasonable for him to put down the controller for ten seconds and listen to what I have to say.

"Woof," He murmurs, eyes not leaving the television. That asshole. I huff angrily and stalk over to his Xbox or PS3 or whatever the hell it's called, and press the button marked 'POWER'. With a little click, the screen goes blank. I smirk. Now I have his attention.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" He shouts, jumping up from his seat and dropping his controller, a look of absolute horror and rage on his face. I'm not scared- Wait, no, I'm _never_ scared, I'm Mello!- But I'm even less scared than I would be, because this is far from the first time this has happened. The guy just doesn't learn.

"I tried to get your attention, and you ignored me," I tell him slowly, just to make sure it sinks in. "I had no choice, Matty."

He glares at me for a moment, and he lunges.

I'm used to this part, too, of course. The only thing that manages to enrage the normally calm gamer to the point of violence is when someone screws up his game- A fact I learned quite a while ago. Judging by his actions this time, he must have started a new game and gotten incredibly far, forgetting to save before I turned it off. I'm such a good owner. I know my dog so well.

"YOU ASSHOLE! I WAS ON LEVEL NINTEY-FOUR!" He screams, trying to push me down, but I dodge it easily.

"God damn, Matt, did you start a new game and forget to save?" I ask in an overly sweet voice, one that says, '_Bastard, that's what happens when you ignore me, and it's gonna happen again if you pull that shit one more time!_'. Matt scowls, jumps forward quicker than I anticipated, and-

**Reason number two**: He bites.

"OW! Bitch, you bit me!" I exclaim, holding my wounded hand close to my chest, an amazed look on my face.

"You deleted my fucking game!" He retorts angrily, as if it's a suitable punishment.

"You _BIT_ me!" I exclaim again, still shocked.

"Well, you shouldn't have deleted my damn game!" The gamer defends. He's calmed down a bit now. I glare at him and feel my mouth twitch. He was so going to pay for that.

Well, as Linda always says, when a bad dog bites, bite it back.

Roger gave us a damn month's worth of detention after we had our bloodied hands bandaged back up. Stupid dog.

**Reason number three**: He won't wear a collar, not even a medicated one.

I smirk to myself. I managed to sneak a box of those little nicotine patches into the orphanage today, along with a leather dog collar. I am so fucking smart, it's not even funny.

I sit down on my bed, fumbling with a black-colored patch, and eventually find a way to attach it to the collar while it would still stick to Matt's skin. If I memorized how to do this, Matt's cigarette addiction would be cured in no time. No more living in a smoky as hell room, and no more ash-tray scented roommates. Fuck yes.

Matt walks through the door just as I finish the collar, and shoots me a look.

"Mello. What are you up to?" He questions, cautiously.

"Nothing," I answer, trying my best to look innocent. It's pretty hard for a badass like me.

"Why did you get here early, then? I always get here ten minutes before you do," He prods, not believing my innocent face. And it's true, he gets here ten minutes early because I always spend about seven minutes after my last class to study, and then three minutes stomping to our room after the teacher kicks me out.

"I know, I know," I sigh, slumping slightly and looking depressed. "I never skip classes, but I'm just _so_ stressed out, Matty." I look up at him with a little pout. He continues with the disbelieving glare.

"So let me get this straight," The gamer states. "For the past however many years, you've been working and studying harder than an Asian, trying to become higher rank than Near, and now, all of a sudden, you've decided that you're stressed enough and skip a class even though you're still a step below him?" He shakes his head. "You're a really shitty liar, Mells. You need to work on that."

I glare at him, forgetting my innocent look. Fucking asshole won't even just accept that I skipped one class. And it's for him! Well, it's for me, but it's more helpful to him!

"Okay, you got me, bastard," I cave, jumping off my bed and trotting over to him. "I spent the last hour working on making this shit for you!" I shove the collar forward, beaming at him. He stares at it for a few seconds.

"Is that a dog collar?"

"Yeah. So?"

"I'm not a dog, Mello. I'm a boy. Not some puppet boy, either. A _real _boy."

I feel my eye twitch, and it's taking all my self-control not to tackle him and put the collar on him my damn self.

"Nice observation, Captain fucking Obvious," I say, calmly. "But I spent an _hour_ making this, just for you. I even skipped a class so it would be a surprise." His look is completely unfazed. I swear, he never feels guilty about anything. Solid proof right there that gingers don't have souls.

"You did something to it, didn't you?"

"What?!" I splutter. "N-No!"

"You did."

"Did not!"

"Did, too."

"Did not!"

"Mello, there's an open box of Nicoderm on your bed. I'm a genius, too, you know."

Damn. Time to take drastic action.

"MELLO, GET OFF OF ME!"

"NOT UNTIL YOU PUT THE GODDAMN COLLAR ON!"

"I DON'T WEAR COLLARS!"

"YOU DO NOW, DAMMIT!"

"What in blazes is going on in here?!"

Once again, we both have a damn month's worth of detention for that. Damn dog.

**Reason number four**: He's got shitty manners. Seriously, no etiquette, even for a dog.

"Matt, what the hell are you doing?!" I snap, standing over him. He's laying in the strangest position- His legs are thrown over the back of the sofa, and his head is flopped over the edge. His arms are even splayed out on either side of him.

"Well, I thought I'd try meditation, but it got boring, so I decided to hang here upside-down instead."

I cross my arms and narrow my eyes.

"I wanna sit down and you're taking up the entire fucking couch. Move your arm over," I demand.

"Nah, I'm good." Oh, that asshole.

"I said _move over_, jackass!" I snap. I grab his arm and yank him off the sofa.

"Dude, Mello! Shit! Stop it! Calm down!" He struggles in my grip, and almost kicks me in the face, which earns him a punch in the gut. I release him, and he rolls over pathetically, whining and clutching his stomach.

"Get up, you pussy; your vest absorbed most of the punch, anyway," I speak in a condescending tone. I mean, hell, I went easy on him.

He groans and stands, orange goggles slightly crooked. He looks pretty silly, actually. I sit in his spot on the sofa and make a waving motion with my hand. "Go cook something. Dinner's too far away."

He frowns at me and stands up straight- See? I knew he was fine.

"What am I supposed to cook? We don't even have any food in here."

"I don't know!" I respond, grabbing the remote and flipping through the different TV stations. "Go ask Linda for cooking supplies or some shit."

A moment later, I hear the door slam shut and know he's gone off to Linda's room. Ten minutes pass, and he's back, completely empty-handed.

"She doesn't have any food," He explains. "Guess you'll just have to wait." He looks at me for a second, me completely ignoring him and flipping through the channels. "Dude. You're in my spot," He says. I ignore him some more. He sighs dramatically, and does something that isn't only unexpected, but pisses me off, as well.

He plops next to me on the sofa and lays his legs across mine.

"Get the hell off me, Matt!" I snap, shoving his legs away.

"No, thanks," He responds, and lays his legs back across mine.

"Bitch, I said get off!" I yell, pushing him. He glares and pushes back, and eventually both we and the sofa fall back with an overly-loud _THUD!_

We only got a few days' worth of detention for that one. Still, he's an annoying dog. At least he's house-trained.

**Reason number five**: He eats chocolate. _My_ Chocolate. Are dogs even able to eat that?

I slam a desk drawer shut. No, no, that's a shitty lie- I slam _the_ desk drawer shut. _The_ desk drawer, as in, _the_ desk drawer which contains the item essential to my survival; _the _necessity of necessities; _the_ fucking shit my blood and soul are made of. Chocolate. And all that's left is the wrappers.

"Dammit! I know that it was fucking full yesterday! Just fucking yesterday!" I scream. "MAAAAATT!"

The redhead strolls into the room, not looking up from his video game, cigarette dripping small piles of ash onto the carpet. "Yeah, Mello?" He asks, completely calm and seemingly unaware of what is about to happen. I tackle him to the floor, throw his game across the side of the room, and shake his shoulders.

"MATT! What did you do with my chocolate?! Where is it?! _Where_?!" I beg frantically.

Though his eyes are slightly wider underneath his goggles, his voice remains steady when he confesses, "I ate it. What's your problem?"

I sit on top of him, feeling my facial features contort in horror.

"You…. _Ate_…. My chocolate?" I gasp.

"Hard of hearing? That's what I just said."

My eye twitches. I need my chocolate. I can already feel myself _dying_ from lack of endorphins. _Dyiiiiing_.

"How- How could- GO BUY ME SOME MORE, DAMMIT! I NEED MY CHOCOLATE! NEEEED IT!"

Matt pushes me off and stands, backing away slightly. "Mello, you don't _need_ it. Nobody _needs_ chocolate. Calm down."

I start to shake from a combination of rage and withdrawal. "Chocolate is like, my life, Matt!" I explain shakily. "If I don't get it, I got through fucking major ass withdrawals. I need that shit to _live_!"

He shakes his head in a way that says, 'I ate your chocolate. Get over it.' I immediately jump up and ball my hand into a fist.

"OBEY THE FIST!" I scream at him. "OBEYYYY!"

He backs off, putting his hands up defensively. " Okay, okay, I'll ask around for some chocolate. Don't have a kitten."

I glare at him and watch him back out the door. Fucking dog.

**Reason number five**: Okay, get this. He won't heel. He won't even fucking come.

L is dead.

I storm down the hallway off Wammy's House for the last time. How in hell could Roger even _suggest_ I work with that fucking sheep Near?! No, no, hell no. I'll fucking catch Kira by myself if that's what it takes- With help from my tech-genius dog, that is. Then, after that, nobody will be able to deny that I am far superior to that fucking sheep.

The bedroom door probably makes a dent, or possibly a small hole, when I throw it open, but I couldn't care less. I stomp over to my bed, pull out the suitcase I've owned since I came here, and begin throwing clothes and prized possessions (See: Chocolate and chocolate) into it.

"Whoa, Mello," Matt's voice sounds from the doorway, "What's with the hole in the wall?"

"Get your shit together. We're leaving."

"What're you talking about, Mello?" He asks in a 'What is it this time?' tone. I resist the urge to turn around and punch him.

"L is dead, I'm leaving, and you're coming with me," I bluntly snap.

There's about two seconds of silence as he struggles to fully comprehend what I said.

"I'm not leaving."

I freeze, then turn around to him, glaring, hands on my hips.

"What?"

"I said 'I'm not leaving'."

"Well why the fuck not?!"

"Mello! We're only _fourteen_! Where the fuck are we supposed to go?! How are we going to make money to eat?! Think things through for once!"

Shaking with rage, I give in and punch him square in the jaw. He lands on his ass, groans, and slaps a hand over his wound, staring at me wide-eyed.

"Are you _completely_ stupid?!" I scream at him. "My whole damn life, I've been trained to become L's successor! Now he's dead, he didn't chose anyone, and Roger wants me to team up with Near! What the hell am I supposed to do?!"

"Team up with him!" He yells it, sounding like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"I can't team up with him! I hate him!"

"Too fucking bad! Get over yourself!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

I punch the side of his head and continue packing. He goes into the bathroom, and comes out a few minutes later with a cold, wet paper towel pressed against his bruised jaw. Finished packing, I turn to him expectantly.

"I'm still not going, Mello. No way," The boy states, determinedly.

"Suit yourself," I respond.

I walk out the door, down the hallway, past the gates, and away from Wammy's House forever. I don't look back.

**Reason number six**: Actually, there is one thing, one absolutely normal thing that can never be changed, that makes Matt the most typical dog of all- He's loyal to me, me and only me, right up until the end.

I could hear Matt speaking through the small headset in my helmet, static-y and blurred by the wind, barely legible. We were still ready. It took a good long six years, but Matt left the orphanage and found me. His hacking skills were much better than when we were children, of course, and he provided massive amounts of help when we were tracking Misa Amane. When it came time for us to kidnap Kiyomi Takada, he was all too ready to help me. I think it was because he had the chance to show off his new car- Or the smoke bombs. Either way, he almost seemed excited.

"S…. Car-…." I furrowed my brows as I tried to listen to him. Damn, the reception in these headsets was awful- I would have to have Matt fix that when we were done.

"Matt, I can't hear a damn word you've been saying," I snapped into the piece. I was already arriving at the building. "I'm hanging up," I informed him, and snapped off the headset.

I easily convinced Takada to get on my motorcycle with well-rehearsed lines, and once I was far enough away, I made an unexpected turn away from the cars trailing me and snapped a pair of handcuffs around Takada's wrists, chaining her to me. Ha. Successful.

After I managed to force her into the truck and took off with her clothes (Leaving her with a blanket, of course), I jumped in the front seat of the vehicle, turned my headpiece back on, and drove away with my victim locked in the back. This was all going exactly as planned.

Of course, when I saw the most recent report on the news- "Forced to shoot," yeah, right- I realized this mission was going nowhere near as planned. Matt's dead. Shit.

I promised myself I wouldn't grow attached to him. I was just forced to take care of him- he never did anything _really_ useful, anyway. Nothing I couldn't have done. But still, I felt sad. And…. Sorry? I haven't felt that before. I _really _did get too attached. But I guess I did expect it, all things considered. That's what they say- Dog ownership always ends in sadness, because dogs just don't live quite as long as us. Yet, even though we know how it will end, we're still sad when it's over.

Why am I even going over this in my head? I guess it's just part of the stages of grief. But it's stupid, and I'm through. I can't let my dog's death be in vain. I won't cry. I still have to move on.

Besides; my chest hurts.

** -O-**

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**Spoiler disclaimer I had to save for the end: I do not own the Invader Zim quote "Obey the fist!", "Marley & Me", or anything else I don't own. Obviously.**

**A/N: Did I do any good? I'm not used to humor OR first person perspective OR present tense- So what do I do? I combine all three. Of course.**


End file.
